"By all means," said Lionel, rising. "Shall I—?"
He looked toward the door. "Oh, no!" she replied, and drew the curtain once more. Then she and the dresser disappeared behind it. A brief interval elapsed and she came forth dressed to play her part. She threw him a bright smile as he sprang to the door. "You must theorize till I come again," she said cheerfully, and he smiled back. The dresser followed her mistress, and he was left alone.
CHAPTER III
CONFIDENCES
"This," thought Lionel, as he waited for her return, "is a queer business, a very queer business indeed. Here we have the indispensable ingredients for an adventure—night, a pretty actress, and an impecunious young man who has played the Noble 'Ero. What happens? The lady sweeps the 'Ero off in a chariot, takes him to her dressing-room, behaves with surprising propriety (quite like an ordinary mortal, in fact), and proceeds to tell him a tale worthy of a writer of feuilletons. What does it mean? What is the idea, the general scheme? The tale must be lies,—pure, unvarnished buncombe, in the language of the vulgar. It is too much to swallow a kidnaping, a tour through, let me see ... Germany, Austria, Rumania, and, h'm ... h'm ... Bulgaria and Rumelia; a bashi-bazouk in Constantinople, a forced marriage—I suppose that's bound to come—and all the rest.... No, my delightful charmer, this really is a little bit too much ... your emotional faculties and the life of the footlights have led you astray...."
But he shook his head, dissatisfied. The simple explanation that she was telling lies was too simple. It explained nothing. The remembrance of her delicious personality sent incredulity to the right-about. Her gracious presence, dignified, commanding, womanly; her brilliant eyes, shining with purity, sympathy and truth; her force of character that revealed itself in every tone and gesture; her pretty hands ... these and a hundred other witnesses battled in her favor. "Besides," he thought, striving to weigh all evidence impartially, "what possible object could she have in lying to me—to me of all people? She knows I am poor and useless for purposes of blackmail. She is too ethereal a creature for a vulgar intrigue—of that I am as sure as that I am neither mad nor dreaming. No; the bare hard facts go to prove that she is telling the truth. Again, why should she lie to the 'Ero who has saved her life? Surely the 'Ero may bring that forward with justice.—'Not guilty, my lord!'" he said aloud, acquitting the fair defendant with a convinced enthusiasm, for he was really glad to believe the new goddess a goddess indeed. Then for a moment doubt returned: "But this room—this girl—the whole adventure is so fantastic, the tale so unlikely, that I can hardly ... Lionel, enough! It may be true, and the evidence is in her favor. Be content to wait on events. At least, it is a variation from the normal—an agreeable break in the monotony of Mrs. Barker and the world. Let me seize the moment, enjoy my brief hour, and allow the future to take care of itself. At worst, I can be no loser at the game ... no ... unless I fall in love with her.... But that must not happen ... it must not happen.... Still, I could wish she had no husband!"
The wish being vain, if not immoral, he laughed wryly at himself and picked up a book that he found lying on the mantelpiece. It was a little volume of light verse, and it whiled away the time until his hostess reappeared. This was about half an hour after her exit. She entered, radiant with triumph.
"Has it seemed long?" she asked, pulling back the curtain and drawing out a chair.
"An eternity," he answered smoothly enough, rising and closing the door. "And now the rest of your wonderful story, if you are not too tired."